


Six Degrees of Separation

by storm_dog_pirate



Category: Nikolai Series - Leigh Bardugo, The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: F/M, also kid zoyalai, in which zoya meets nikolai as sturmhond, nikolai as Sturmhond because i miss him ok, them meeting as kids kajdhsfas, then meeting again years later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:46:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25051120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storm_dog_pirate/pseuds/storm_dog_pirate
Summary: In which a raven-haired Squaller and a boy with hazel eyes met when as kids, but never knew each other's names, until the boy had to leave the palace without any goodbye to the Squaller.Years later, Zoya meets a redhead privateer that reminds her of someone.
Relationships: Nikolai Lantsov/Zoya Nazyalensky
Comments: 7
Kudos: 38





	Six Degrees of Separation

**Author's Note:**

> Because focusing on one work is my weakness and my mind wouldn't let me write my current one if I didn't take this off of it. ;-;

A long time ago, the Little Palace had welcomed a young, raven-haired squaller. She was nine when her guardian accompanied her to the capital to train as a soldier for the Second Army. 

Her training had started that same day, and after only a year, the young Squaller was the best among the other students in her class. At ten, she had already made a great impression of herself to the instructors and the older Grisha. It pleased her, somehow, knowing that she was better than most, as she had spent her childhood trying to please her mother who never batted an eye to her achievements in her former classes.

Maybe it was also her confidence that made her reprimand another student. Or so she had thought.

It was during a recess when the young Squaller had gone to the Little Palace’s gardens, trying to etch the scenery in her head so she could draw it in her letters that she sent to her aunt every week. The garden was peaceful at noon, the soft breeze rustling the leaves and wafting the scent of various flowers nearby. 

She had gone a bit further into the gardens when she heard a sound of a wood splintering and breaking. 

“Oh, no.”

The young Squaller looked to her right just in time to see the branch of a tree fall down, followed by a clatter of notebooks. She looked up, and was surprised to see a boy with golden curls trying to get down from his place in the tree high above ground. 

“Be careful—” she tried to say, but stopped abruptly when the boy’s foot slipped from a dent in the bark. She whipped a hand out to whip a draft of wind to cushion his fall. It was a bit of a clumsy summon as it took her by surprise, and the boy landed on the ground with a loud _oof_. 

The young Squaller ran towards the boy, who was slowly sitting up while rubbing his shoulder. He had a wince on his face as his other arm started to gather his scattered notebooks.

“What were you doing up there?” the young Squaller demanded, hands resting on her hips. The boy looked up at her, and she was startled by his hazel eyes. She was sure she hadn’t seen anyone with such light-colored eyes before. She bent down to help the boy in collecting his things. “That was dangerous, even for boys like you.”

The boy gave her a grin, which quickly turned into a grimace when he’d moved his arm a bit rashly. “Yes, I think I’m quite aware of that. It’s cool. What you did with your powers, I mean,” he said, waving his hand in the air in weird gestures. He stood up in his full height, and the young Squaller noticed that he wasn’t that much taller than her. “A bit uncontrolled, I noticed.”

It sparked an irritation in the young Squaller, and she shoved the few notebooks she had helped get from the ground to the boy’s hands. “A thank you would be nice,” she said sharply. 

“My apologies,” the boy said, arranging his notebooks in a clean stack. At least he did look apologetic. He grinned again, that all-too confident grin that brought out the vibrancy of his eyes. “Thank you, dear extraordinary Squaller.”

“Just don’t be an idiot next time.”

She had expected the boy to look offended or mad, but all he did was laugh lightly and nod. “Of course. I will take note of that. I must go.”

“Sure. Whatever.” The young Squaller waved a dismissive hand to the boy, who laughed and winked at her in return. He turned and limped across the garden, whistling a tune that sounded broken and off, and then he disappeared behind a thick brush that led to the courtyard.

She was about to leave as well, but a flash of white caught her eyes. There was a piece of paper left on the ground. She bent over to pick it up. On the expanse of the material was a rough sketch of what she could guess as a ship, and at the top right corner was a messy scrawl of “ _Kingfisher"_. 

The young Squaller looked at the direction the boy had disappeared to, silently wondering who he was. She had never seen him in the Little Palace before, so he might be a new student. It explained his sudden exit when she saw him. 

With a shrug, the young Squaller folded the paper and tucked it inside her pocket. She would give it back the next time she saw him.

It was several days later when she saw him again, but this time, he stayed down on the ground and was resting his back on the tree bark, hands busy scribbling on his notebook. She approached him, paper in hand, and stopped at least a few feet away. 

The boy stopped writing and looked up, a smile appearing on his lips when he saw her. “Hello,” he said. 

“You left this in the grass when you fell,” the Young squaller said, giving the folded paper to the boy, who took it rather enthusiastically. 

“Saints, thank you!” he exclaimed when he finally unfolded it, eyes brightening up. Then the boy seemed to notice his own outburst and shook himself. He gave her a sheepish smile. “Thank you, really. I thought I lost it.” 

The young Squaller smiled back. “So, you’re fond of ships?” 

The boy averted his eyes and looked back down to his notebook, his ears turning all shades of red. “Weird, I know, but—”

“Who says it’s weird? I think it’s actually cool.” The young Squaller sat next to the boy, who looked really surprised.

“You do?” 

“Sure. They go against the waves of rough seas and oceans but still manage to float upright.”

The boy laughed lightly. “That is a nice way to say it,” he said. “But I’m thinking of something different with this.” He gestured to the paper. Then he leaned his head a bit closer, as if he was going to tell a secret, and whispered, “What if they flew?”

The young Squaller drew back in surprise. “No way.”

“Yes way.” The boy opened his notebook and showed the young Squaller his other sketches and ideas. 

“That’s impossible.”

“I prefer improbable.”

It was the start of the friendship between the young Squaller and the boy with golden curls for the next few months, even though they barely see each other. It would sometimes stretch at least two weeks before they saw each other again by the same tree in the garden. Usually, it was the boy who kept their conversation going, telling the young Squaller all about the ideas he had in mind while she just listened to him. 

It brought a bit of escapism from the exhaustion of the lessons in the Little Palace, and she appreciated the rare times she met the boy with remarkable ideas, until she looked forward to seeing him almost everyday. 

But these rare meetings suddenly stopped when the boy didn’t show up at the same spot in the next few days The few days turned into weeks, and the weeks turned into months. The boy never showed up again.

The young Squaller had been disappointed at first, but she knew better than let herself get sad over the sudden disappearance of the boy. And by the time she had entirely stopped expecting him to show up, she realized that it was a good thing they never knew each other’s names. The boy had never bothered asking for hers, so she didn’t try to ask for his. 

Maybe they had never been friends at all. 

It would be nine years later when the young Squaller saw the boy again, but she had long since forgotten the short time they knew each other from the palace gardens.

***

The silence hung heavily in the air. The redhead privateer levelled her challenging glare with an amused look, and for the nth time in the past few days, Zoya had the urge to punch it off his face. 

“Who are you, really?” she repeated her previous question that remained unanswered. “And stop telling me you’re a mere privateer in the seas, because I am most certain you are not _just someone_.”

Sturmhond gave a hearty laugh. “But it is what I am, dear Zoya,” he said, grinning his blinding smile. For a moment, there was something familiar radiating around him, a resemblance of a past memory. “Though you are quite right when you said I’m not _just_ someone.”

Zoya narrowed her eyes. “Elaborate, then.”

“I’m actually a close friend to the prince.”

His statement surprised her. But then she remembered his words to her when he got her out of the university. It only made her more suspicious of this _pirate_ that was casually standing in front of her like he didn’t have to care for anything.

“Is that why you have _eyes_ on him at the university in Ketterdam?” she demanded, stepping closer to the privateer, but the redhead didn’t as much budge from his place like Zoya expected him to.

“A good friend doesn’t leave a friend to fend for himself in an unknown territory.” Sturmhond waved a hand in the air. “Especially when he’s the second prince.”

“If you’re a good friend, you wouldn’t have left there without making sure no threat was to come at him when the _stadwatch_ realized that a Ravkan soldier had been identified hiding among the crowd.” She shook her head. “You should stop being an idiot for once.” 

Sturmhond went silent at that, which satisfied Zoya in a way she couldn’t quite place. There was something triumphant when something had finally made the privateer shut up. She lifted her chin in a silent challenge, expecting Sturmhond to back down. But he didn’t.

He gave her a dashing grin instead. 

“Ah, there she is,” Sturmhond said, shrugging his coat tighter around himself. “Now I know why you were the one sent to handle the rescue mission in Ketterdam.” Then his expression softened, and he regarded her with obvious respect in his eyes. “I’m sure the Second Army commander would appreciate you returning safely.”

Zoya’s anger flared. The rescue mission had been a complete failure. If the privateer’s compliments held such underlying slurs, then she would’ve been pleased to have insults said directly to her. 

“You’re really that confident to get past the patrols on Os Kervo?” she said. She shook her head. “Without anyone to confirm your identity, getting past those patrols would be _impossible._ ”

Sturmhond shrugged, the calm and easy expression back to his face. He looked confident enough for himself. “I prefer improbable.”

Something in Zoya’s mind clicked, and she was left gaping at the privateer, who only winked at her before brushing past her. She was sure she had heard that line before, but wasn’t sure when or where. The thought continued to trouble her, so she whirled around to face the retreating privateer.

“Hey,” she called out, “have we met before?”

Sturmhond stopped and turned halfway, his expression inquisitive. Then he shrugged. “I don’t know, dear Zoya. But maybe I’m just that handsome.” He nodded, giving her a lopsided smile. “Get some rest. It’s still a week before we get to Os Kervo.” 

Then he was off, whistling an off-key tune that stayed in Zoya’s mind for the rest of the night. 

***

When Sturmhond had returned to his quarters below deck, he closed the door behind him and leaned against it. A laugh escaped from him, and he shook his head. His suspicions were confirmed. What were the chances of meeting _her_ again? He wasn’t the one to believe in fate. 

But this certain moment was making him consider.

He shrugged off his coat and went to the desk at the opposite side of the room, hanging the garment on the back of his chair. Reaching a hand over the drawer, Sturmhond opened it and took the old, worn out notebook at the very bottom of the stack. 

A wave of nostalgia hit him, making him smile. This was where he had spent most of his late nights growing up, sketching the ideas he’d come up with when the sound of gunfire and explosion were too much for him to be able to sleep. 

Sturmhond sat down on the chair as he opened the notebook, seeing the mess that were his scrawls and drawings, mixing with each other in a series of lines and curves. He turned the page. An old paper was wedged in between the pages, the edges torn from ages of handling. But one look at it, he knew exactly what it was. 

The sloppy handwriting of ‘Kingfisher’ on the top right corner was already fading, but it was still readable. He remembered how he had panicked the night he fell from _that_ tree, the thought of losing his greatest idea almost making him cry. But then a certain Squaller had returned it to him after a few days, with her stoic face and firm voice, and Sturmhond knew he was forever thankful to her for giving it back to him.

Because he was able to make the idea come to life and set out to the seas on it _now_.

“Who would’ve thought I’d see you again, dear extraordinary Squaller,” he murmured to the page. 

For the first time in a long while, Sturmhond felt a _real_ smile appear on his face.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rough excerpt from another multi-chapter I accidentally (yes, accidentally) made. Idk when I'd post the full one, but we'll see. HEHE.


End file.
